Where does it start? Killarney

Where does it end? Dingle

How long is it? 126 miles

Why is it great?

The Alps? Who needs them when you’ve got scenery like Killarney National Park as you leave Killarney town on a well-surfaced road winding past deep blue lakes, rugged mountains and the last great virgin forests in Ireland, an island that was covered in mighty oaks until they were chopped down to make ships for the Royal Navy.

At least the oaks survived, which is more than can be said for the last wolf in Ireland, who was killed here in 1700, presumably after wandering through these forests for months wondering why no one had replied to his ad in the lonely hearts sections of Wildlife Weekly saying: Partner wanted for friendship and possible romance. Must have own fur coat and like long walks, cold nights out and raw sheep. Non-smoker preferred. Must be a wolf.

After that, Kenmare’s a pleasant market town with a lovely view up Main Street of pastel coloured buildings, then the church spire and the mountains beyond.

From there it’s the famous Ring of Kerry, a stunning loop on a two-lane road that dances between the soaring green on your right and the aching blue of ocean crashing onto rocks on your left.

What do I need to know?

In high season, most folks doing the Ring of Kerry are either on a tourist coach or in a snail trail of cars, but on a bike, you can soar past both with a cheery wave. Note that the coaches do the Ring anti-clockwise, so most car drivers do the opposite, as you will be.

Anything Else?

In Dingle, have a drink in Dick Mack’s, a former spirit grocer’s dating from 1899 and now a tiny haven outside; the name plaques in the pavement show that everyone from Julia Roberts to Dolly Parton and Robert Mitchum called in to have a pint or try the astonishing selection of Irish whiskies behind the bar.

Then have dinner in The Global Village, whose six-course tasting menu at €60, or €90 with wines, is better than I’ve eaten in some Michelin-starred restaurants. At one stage, a chap who turned out to be called Martin Bealin came wandering out from the kitchen dressed in whites.

“Are you the chef, by any chance?” I said.

“No, the plumber. I called in to fix a leak and they made me wear this,” he said, proving his wit is as inspired as his cooking.